


Slipping Away

by RIShan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aphasia, Blood Loss, Chocolate Pudding, Concerned Derek, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Dying Stiles, Failing Organs, M/M, Poison, Poisoned Stiles, Respiratory Distress, Trying To Be Better Dad Sheriff, Twisted Allison, Worries Scott and pack, anthrax - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:49:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3785485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RIShan/pseuds/RIShan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek are trying to find the cure for a new strain of anthrax suddenly killing people but also affecting wolves.  When Stiles accidently walks into the house of Dr. Bernard he gets infected and is slowly, painfully, dying.  Without the cure he'll slip away completely, and Stiles might never get the chance to tell Derek how he feels.</p><p>Based on the Criminal Minds episode "Amplification"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slipping Away

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry in advance for any mistakes and Enjoy!

Derek stares at the house from afar trying to look through the windows but finds nothing.  Behind him Stiles stumbles into view.  He's panting and gasping for air while glaring at the older male.  Derek doesn't pay attention to his childish attitude but the pounding of the boy's heart echoes in the alpha's ears loudly.  He tries to ignore the fast erratic beating of Stiles' heart but other than the birds chirping there's no other sound from the house - no movement whatsoever.  However, he can smell the potent scent even from where he's standing outside the fence. It’s a deadly poison sitting atop somewhere inside waiting for its next victim.

Without a warning he walks toward the dirty white building.  Stiles follows behind him.  His hand tangles in a bush of thorns and he curses as a single sharp thorn tears through his skin.  Reflexively he pulls his hand back and inspects the cut on the side of his hand already welling with blood.

"Stupid bush," he mutters under his breath.

Derek abruptly stops causing Stiles to collide with his back.

"Oof."

"You go left and I'll go right," Derek orders just before disappearing.

Stiles huffs but goes as directed.  In his head he curses Derek and his werewolf smoking good looks.

He spots a double glass door.  Carefully he slides it open and walks around the room.  His slowing heart suddenly spikes as he sees the familiar white powder from the police report pictures spilled over a desk in the corner.  Stiles quickly runs to the glass door and closes it with the lock knowing full well Derek can sense the change of his scent turn into putrid fear.

On the other side of the house Derek's ear twitches and he catches Stiles' scent filled with fear.  He runs toward it only to find the human inside the house holding onto the door firmly.

"Stiles," he growls.

"Derek no!"  Stiles shouts, muffled by the door.

Derek grasps the handle and rattles it.

"Please!" Stiles begs.

Derek's gaze travels to the desk where he sees it and he tenses.

"Please Derek, let me do this.  It's too late now just... if I can't do this I die and you shouldn't be infected because of my stupid mistake," Stiles whispers brokenly.

Derek places his hand on the cold glass and Stiles lays his head on it where the alpha's hand rests while taking deep breaths.

"Please..."

* * *

 2 hours ago...

"It has to be something ordinary," Stiles mumbled as he stared at the map.

"What's ordinary about anthrax laced with wolfs bane specifically to kill us?  Not to mention there's no known cure," Erica scoffed.

"I _meant_ the cure.  Anthrax attacks humans too, meaning it will attack your human side as well as your wolf, so let's say, hypothetically, that it was a hunter.  To be a hunter you have to be human, right?"

There were collective nods of agreement.

"Well then what if there's an accident?  Anthrax is airborne- well that's how it's being used- so there's a spill.  He, or she, let's not be sexist, needs the cure if they get poisoned too," Stiles reasoned logically.

"That's why you're here," Erica grinned as she nudged his shoulder.

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck as a blush tinted his cheeks rosy.

"What are we going to do though?  Where do we look?  Do we even know who is releasing the pathogen?" Isaac questioned nervously.

"We have to do something.  I can't stand the thought that my dad could get hurt again... I need to do this and we'll start by looking at the serial killer's house.  I will, with or without you, if I have to," Stiles had replied determined.

"Stiles," Scott mumbled.

"He's after us and I can't let him hurt people we care about.  I won't let him."

"Okay, so what do we have to do?" Scott asked worried.

"We start by Dr. Bernard, I've seen the interrogation videos from years back and he's argued about a better defense mechanism against outsiders, especially one which involves similar bombs that are releasing anthrax now," Stiles informed.

"Maybe we should split up.  Dr. Bernard lives here," Boyd marked the address with a pin on the map.

"And someone should go to the hospital," Erica added.

"I tried but Dr. Kimura doesn't share the same thoughts as me... and my dad... well he thinks I'm just a nuisance.  He doesn't trust Derek even after discovering the whole werewolf thing.  I just wish he'd trust us- trust me- more," Stiles muttered depressed although a lie hid in between.

Scott offered him a reassuring hug to his best friend.

Derek didn't say anything; he simply watched the interaction between the teens.  There was really no need to comment or even bother with what they do.  They have to find the psychopath and bring him down before he hurts more innocent people.  Simple.

"Okay so Dr. Bernard created this type of anthrax that apparently has no cure, _yet_.  Before the six remaining patients die _we_ have to find the cure.  Werewolves cannot be anywhere near the thing or they go insane by simply smelling it right?" Isaac recapped.

"Unless you're Derek," Stiles smiled softly.

Derek had quirked a brow at that.

"Anyway, Scott and Isaac should go to the hospital.  Boyd and I will check the perimeter because I assure you he won't be stupid enough to make a mistake, he's close to achieving whatever it is he wants," Erica said.

"What about me?" Stiles frowned.

"You and Derek will  pay Dr. Bernard's home a visit," Scott smirked. 

* * *

Present...

"Stiles!"  Derek calls out.

"Derek shut up," Stiles hisses back.

He's digging through piles of papers and books but has found nothing.  He can hear Derek growling at empty space as his feet fall on the soft wet earth, pacing.

That's when he sees it.  Two different piles, two different handwriting, two different people.

"Derek," Stiles whispers breathless as if he was punched in the stomach.

He hears as Derek's hands collide with the glass but he doesn't open the door.  No matter how much his wolf gnaws inside his chest.  He can hear the soft footfall of Stiles' movement as he searches deeper inside the house.  He can smell how death is quickly masking Stiles' scent.

"Oh," Stiles gasps.

"Oh?" Derek repeats.

Stiles' heart is beating frantically again.

"Stiles!" he yells.

"He's dead," Stiles replies is a soft voice.

Derek still heard him though.

"Who!" he demands.

Derek can already feel his control slip, his claws growing long and sharp.

"Dr. Bernard... Derek there's someone else!" Stiles yells from where he is.

"Someone... else?"

Derek pulls out Stiles' phone and quickly dials Sheriff Stilinski's number.

He answers on the third ring with an irritated, " _Stiles_."

"Derek.  Stiles...He's been infected, we're in Dr. Bernard's house but there's another person involved.  Apparently he killed Dr. Bernard and is the current killer," he explains.

" _Stiles became involved?  After I told him not to be so stupid?!_ " the Sheriff shouts angrily.

"Stiles risked his life to protect you," Derek growls, "he's dying to protect you, everything he's ever done was for you. Yet, you look at him with disappointment; you treat him like an idiot when he's absolutely brilliant."

Stiles appears at the door and Derek drops the phone in his haste to offer some comfort, any comfort.

Stiles is beginning to look clammy and pale.  Too pale to be considered normal.  He slides down the closed door and rests his feverish forehead against the cool glass.

" _If you're right Derek, then come and help me catch this guy, help me save my son_ ," Sheriff Stilinski pleads.

Derek sits in front of Stiles and through the glass attempts to soothe him.  He knows the human's heart is pumping extra hard to provide blood but it's slowly shutting down.

"I won't leave you," Derek promises.

"Go, maybe...maybe if you catch him we can get a confession," Stiles tries.

"What about you?"

"Derek...plea-" Stiles cuts off in a fit of coughing.

"Okay but just...don't- goddamit Stiles you have to be strong okay?  You have to pull through," Derek begs.

Stiles lifts a trembling hand and presses it against Derek own.  The thin sheet of glass is the only thing separating them.

"Okay," he whispers, suddenly feeling lethargic.

Derek stands and with one last look, shifts.

* * *

 4.5 hours earlier...

"What's her name?" Stiles asked.

A young girl, maybe ten, lays on the too big hospital bed lifeless.

"Leslie," Dr. Kimura answered.

"She was at the park..." it wasn't a question so much as a statement.

"In the swings," the doctor confirmed.

"How many?"

"Three," she replied stoically.

"Three out of nine are gone..."

"She's in her finally stages," Dr. Kimura nodded.

"Final stages?" Stiles inquired perplexed as he tore his gaze away from the little girl.

The little girl's eyes opened and she turned to the side of the bed coughing until she vomited.  On the floor landed splatters of blood causing Stiles to take a step back in reflex.  His stomach started to churn at the disgusting sight.

"Her organs are failing and her lungs are poisoned, she's on support but soon she'll be hooked on ventilator although it will only serve to prolong a painful death," she explained, a sad tint in her voice.

Immediately Stiles began to list the symptoms of various illnesses in his mind.  But only one illness really fits– anthrax.

_High fever_

_Trouble breathing_

_Shock_

_Meningitis_

_Nausea/Vomiting_

_Abdominal pain_

_Headaches_

_Sores_

"How do you feel?" she asked Leslie with a tender caring voice.

"I flail okey oka okya," she mumbled.

"Aphasia?" Stiles questioned confused.

Dr. Kimura turned to face him with a grave expression.

No anthrax has aphasia.  He knows that for a fact.

"The last symptom before they..." she faced her again with a gentle voice, "go to sleep."

Stiles' eyes grew wide in surprise.

"But… It's been less than forty-eight hours..."

"This newly developed anthrax kills faster than any other known.  Imagine the power this man holds," Dr. Kimura nodded.

"Maybe I should go," Stiles replied.

"Maybe you should," she agreed.

* * *

 Present...

“ _Stiles_?”

“Danny, hi,” Stiles greets, voice hoarse.

“ _What can I do for you_?” Danny asks.

He knows the situation, everyone knows and he feels terrible he can’t do anything except hack and try to find the asshat that’s hurting his friends.

“I need you to do me a favor,” Stiles answers.

“ _Okay, anything_ ,” Danny replies.

“I need you to…to record a message… for my dad,” Stiles continues.

Danny stops typing on the keyboard and takes a sharp breath.

“Danny?” Stiles asks.

His voice is so small and fragile and vulnerable.

Danny forces himself to breathe.

“ _Okay…when you’re ready.”_

“Okay. So, hi dad… this is Stiles. I just really wanted you to know that I love you, and I need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son… never forget that… please dad if anything… just… know that I love you,” Stiles says.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Danny whispers a lump forming in his throat.

“Thank you,” Stiles sniffles before hanging up without letting Danny say anything else.

Stiles looks at his phone which Derek thankfully left just outside the door in his reach and he allows a tear to roll down his pale cheek and land on the screen of the only picture he has of his dad and himself together.

“I love you,” he whispers lastly.

"How are you holding up?"

Stiles jumps at the sudden voice and looks up to see Dr. Kimura dressed in a yellow protective suit.  She holds up a similar pair to Stiles.

"I think it's too late for that, I'm already infected," Stiles shrugs but ends in another coughing fit.

He has dark circles under his eyes from exhaustion and the clear struggle his body is in trying to survive.

Derek still isn't back yet and he only hopes it means something good, if only to quell his fear.

"Stiles maybe you should head to the hospital," she says kindly with a hand on his shoulder.

“I have to find the cure, I just… I have to,” Stiles grits frustrated.

“It’s okay Stiles, where do we start?”

“It has to be something ordinary,” Stiles insists.

“Ordinary?” she repeats.

Stiles nods.

“Ordinary,” she repeats firmly.

She stares at the teenage boy in front of her, barely seventeen but brave, as his eyes water.

“You’re going to be fine,” she assures.

He nods again but the fight and adrenaline are slowly leaving him.

“Hey,” she urges, “we’re going to find a cure and you’ll bounce back along with the others okay?”

“Okay,” he smiles weakly.

His tired eyes skim the journal pages quickly but there’s nothing.  The only things written are formulas that mean nothing.  They have no significance.

“Com’on com’on,” he pleads desperately.

He coughs into his hand violently until a metallic taste is left behind.  He wipes his hand across his mouth to draw it back covered in sticky blood.  A yell from across the house makes him look up.

He runs to where Dr.  Kimura is and stands shocked in his spot.

“You said ordinary right?”

Stiles can only stare at the harmless object in her hand.  A sea green inhaler with a navy blue mouth piece and the small harmless cylinder hooked at the top.  It’s harmless.  Completely utterly harmless but Stiles feels like he can cry.

“Could this be it?” she asks.

Stiles nods his head furiously, so sure of himself despite feeling hopeless moments ago.

“Let’s hope so,” she offers him a small smile.

It quickly disappears into concern when Stiles coughs worse than ever before.  It leaves him breathless, wheezing, and in pain.  She grasps his hand tightly and hold it to the light.  Concerned eyes turn to his.

“Stiles, did you hurt yourself?”

Stiles’ eyes widen and he nods numbly.

“Get the medics!!” Dr. Kimura shouts.

Stiles is immediately strapped to a stretcher when the medics arrive.  Dr. Kimura a constant presence where Derek should be.

“How do you feel?” she questions concerned.

Stiles coughs and takes a minute to compose himself before answering.

“My throat’s a little dry, but other than that, I feel flee feel fin.  I feel- I fleel fin,” he repeats going into panic.

Blood is suddenly pouring from his mouth staining his lips red.

“Stiles? Stiles! Stay with me! Stiles!”

* * *

 

“Danny do you have something?” Jackson asks.

His eyes go all over the place trying to detect anything out of the ordinary.

Erica and Boyd had asked for Danny’s help when he was there and he had offered to help.  Finding out that Stilinski was dying was like a hard blow he didn’t expect.  By no means were they best of friends but he had a soft spot for the annoying peep squeak.

“The purchases are from Lydia’s card,” Danny answers.

“Lydia?” Jackson repeats with narrowing eyes.

“Yes Lydia,” Danny says as he stares at the screen.

“Danny?” Jackson calls, his voice soft, “what’s wrong?”

“Stiles called me,” Danny says by way of explanation.

“And?” Jackson urges.

“He made a message…Jackson if it is Lydia we have to stop her, Stiles doesn’t think he can survive,” Danny confesses.

“I’ll tell Derek,” Jackson says.

Which he does.

Derek hangs up and looks at the sheriff.

“It’s not Lydia,” he says firmly.

“Someone else,” Peter agrees from the doorway.

“Someone who despises us,” Scott adds.

“But who?” the Sheriff asks.

He’s pulling his hair as he stares at all the possible suspects.

“I um…hate to say this but what about Allison?” Isaac asks.

“Danny said Lydia’s credit card!” Scott growls.

Isaac flinches at the defending tone Scott growls in.

“But who usually shops with Lydia?  Sorry but when it comes to friendships Lydia isn’t the brightest,” Isaac whispers.

Scott’s features soften at the scared look Isaac gives as well as his scent heavy with fear and hurt.  Scott steps forward and cups his cheek.

“I’m sorry… it’s just, I thought she changed,” Scott offers.

“It’s okay, you still love her an-“

Scott cuts him off with a soft press of his lips.

“I’m sorry but don’t ever think I love her when in reality I only have eyes for you.  I just wanted to believe that she changed and we could’ve been friends,” Scott says.

“I-It’s okay,” Isaac nods.

Derek turns away from the moment but catches a whiff of the air.  A familiar scent causes his wolf to growl defensively.

“It’s definitely Allison,” Derek confirms and he takes off running after the scent.

How hadn’t he known before?  The house was drenched in her scent.  She’s just like Kate Argent.  Pretending to be interested in something only to gain a way to kill and hurt people.  She used Bernard but when he realized what she was considering doing she killed him.  An essential witness murdered cold blooded to get revenge on the people who ruined her life.  Derek is an idiot.  How hadn’t he realized?

The others join the pursuit.  The sheriff gets in his car with Peter by his side.  Peter, without question, turns the siren on as the sheriff steps on the gas.  They end up in the Hale house filled with hostages.  The sheriff draws out his gun.  The others are shifted into their beta forms as they stalk into the house with the charred door opened wide.

Allison is in the middle of the room holding a bag with leather bound gloves on her hands.

“Put the bag down,” Sheriff Stilinski orders.

His voice is deep and commanding.

She slowly turns to face the group with a wicked smile.

“I can kill everybody here! And I will kill before you do!”

Derek growls, practically roars, in anger.   Allison flinches but steps forward to challenge him.

“Give me the fucking bag,” he demands.

“Or else what?” She asks with a tilt to her head.

“Or else I shoot,” Sheriff Stilinski answers.

The people struggle, some cry, others thrash.

“Let them go Allison,” Scott begs.

“You betrayed me Scott.  I loved you and you betrayed me!!”

“I do love you but not how you want me to, not anymore,” he responds.

“You killed my mom,” she accuses but it’s directed at Derek although the look of disbelief is toward Scott.

“She killed herself,” Derek corrects.

“No,” she shakes her head in denial.

“Allison, put the bag down,” Sheriff Stilinski tries again.

His patience is wearing thin knowing his son is dying because of a girl that he once called a friend.

“It wasn’t enough that your whole family died right?  Now you have to kill more innocent people.  But what will hurt the most is the fact that you’re killing your mate, poor Stiles, he’ll never know once he dies,” Allison taunts.

Peter is the first to launch at her.  Isaac catches the bag thrown out of her hands.

“Isaac what’s in the bag?” The sheriff asks.

“She was using lightbulbs to carry spores effectively making an anthrax bomb,” Isaac answers quickly as they take the evidence, confiscated.

Other policemen, contacted by the sheriff, arrive and arrest Allison into custody.

Derek is restraining himself until his phone rings.

“Hello?” He answers quickly.

“Mr. Hale?”

“Yes? Dr. Kimura?  How’s Stiles?”

Everyone holds their breath.  Every wolf can hear the sirens of the ambulance in the background.

“He’s gotten weaker, worse, on the way to the hospital.  He’s in respiratory distress- his lungs are failing,” she replies honestly.

Derek loses his breath at those words.  He completely shifts and runs toward the hospital, his phone long forgotten on the house of the burnt Hale home.  Stiles is dying, he could be dead, and it would be his fault.  All his fault.

With those dark thoughts he skids to halt in front of the hospital and forces himself to shift back.  He rushes inside but gets stopped by a nurse outside big double doors.  He can smell it.  Can smell Stiles.  Can feel him slowly slipping away.  He balls up his hands into fists and slams them to the wall.  The nurse long gone.  He howls.  Loud and pain filled.  Everyone hears him.  Everyone mourns.

* * *

Derek is sitting in the chair near the hospital bed.  He takes a spoonful of the chocolate pudding in hand and pops it in his mouth.  In the bed, a lump begins to stir until beautiful brown eyes flutter open.  Stiles' head lolls to the side, his hair a mop of mess.

“Hey there,” Derek smiles.

“Hi… is that pudding?” Stiles croaks.

Derek chuckles deeply as it rumbles through his chest.

It’s only then that Stiles realizes Derek's hand gripping his, dark veins taking away his pain.

“How do you feel?”

“Is there more pudding?” Stiles asks instead.

Derek rolls his eyes but has a tender smile playing on his lips.  He leans in ever so careful and presses them to Stiles’ dry lips.

When he pulls back Stiles is seemingly speechless.

“Want more?” Derek inquires innocently.

“I want you,” Stiles smiles back.

Derek places his forehead atop of Stiles’ and let’s his mate’s scent filter through his mind.

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I let this happen, sorry I couldn’t protect you, sorry I almost lost you,” Derek apologizes.

“And I’m sorry for never telling you.  I love you Derek Hale, with everything that I am,” Stiles whispers.

“I love you too,” Derek smiles.

The door opens to reveal a bunch of werewolves clearly eavesdropping.  The sheriff looks nonchalant but his face shows otherwise, Peter just appears disappointed as if he expected _more_.  Scott is the first to react by hugging Stiles tightly and the room quickly fills with balloons, flowers, cards, and teddy bears.  Stiles’ feels at home, he feels like he’s no longer slipping away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
